Mountaineer's Guide- Skiing the Circus at Saalbaach

We liked our little spot in Saalbaach, but little is a critical adjective. With two pads set out like couch approximations, some low tables, a bed, and a smudge of a kitchen all huddled under the agressive slope of a Tirolian Ridgeline. We shared a communal toilet which made it all feel a bit like camping, but luckily had a shower in the apartment. And what a shower it was. A space-age TARDIS of a shower with knobs and vents a-plenty and several misleading but well meaning sharpie annotations. When we saw it, we should have known it would take a little time to figure out, but we were excited to finally be settled for a few days and ready to explore so we put it off for the morning.

Woe unto us. Stu was particularly encamped under the duvet, so I had the privilege of showering first. After a few minutes spent deciphering the scribbles around the three central knobs I tried turning things on and was greeted by a gushing waterfall out of the right side of the panhead mounted to the top of the box, and some half-hearted spritzes from the mobile showerhead to the side. I turned the water up and tried to get it to start heating, then came back to adjust it to a more manageable temperature. After that, I had to readjust the water pressure, then the temperature again, then, just after getting everything perfect, the miniature hot water tank ran dry. Out of hot water, frustrated, and anxious to get on the mountain, Stu and I finally called it and started gearing up.

After a quick stop at the rental shop to pick up skis and poles for me, and the full set-up for Stu, we clunked our way down to the base of the nearest Gondola, bought our lift tickets, and loaded up.

I know it's juvenile, but I couldn't stop sniggering at the name of the gondi-- the Schattberg Xpress. Rediculous names aside, it took us up to the top of the southern set of peaks. We looped the backside of Schattberg Ost for a bit in order to warm up and get used to our rental equipment. Plus, the southern face was getting some morning sun and Stu found some fresh tracks of his own just off-piste.

The lift itself (actually most of the lifts at Skicircus) was a bit over-the-top. New lifts with all the niceties built in are apparently a point of pride in Austria. The one we looped on Schattberg Ost not only had footrests and a snowshield, but also a magic carpet to bring you up to speed as you loaded the lift. We definitely had a bit of a laugh when we saw the whole setup.

Wanting to explore beyond our single mountain, we traveled west, first to Schattberg West, then over to the peak of Zwolferkogel. We dipped down onto the south face of the mountain range again to find lunch away from the crowds. I finally got my first hit of Landjager since returning to the Germanic region of the world, and we grabbed some currywurst and bier to round things out. We ate and drank on the deck outside so we could continue to enjoy the splendor of the Alps.

Over the course of the afternoon, we managed to crest four more peaks (Reichkendlkopf, Hasenauer Köpfl, Reiterkogel, and Bernkogel), bringing the total to seven (let that sink in--SEVEN PEAKS.) One of the coolest moments was toward the end of the afternoon when we looked across the valley and saw the morning's three peaks all lined up and were able to trace our day along the range. It really hit home how absolutely huge Skicircus is.

Finally, it was time to call it. My legs were starting to get sloppy, my right knee was hurting, and the snow was devolving rapidly into a slushy mogul-y mess. At the top of the final run, we agreed to head back down into town and hit up a bar to warm up and let our limbs recover a bit before hiking back to the cave in our gear. Stu made it all the way down to the street but I answered the siren call of a swedish band singing Freddy Mercury at a hut just below the chairlift called Soul House. After some hasty texts trying to locate one another, Stu hiked back up to meet me while I nabbed us a table near the stage and the bar for a little bit of proper Austrian Aprés-ski partying.

party @ Soul House

We were late to the game. Many of the heat-lamp seats were occupied and the party was well on it's way by the time we settled in around 4:30. Stu grabbed a bier but I was chilled so I grabbed a hot chocolate...and then another while the band ramped up and the crowd got into the swing of things. There was a particularly boisterous older guy, well into his schnopps, leading the call for smoke on the water and other classic hits while the band wavered between queen and snow patrol. On the understanding that he'd play air guitar, they gave in to raucus pleasure from the crowd. Finally, the lack of heat lamps began to overshadow the party around us and we called it for the promise of a woefully late shower at home.

Having tested the waters earlier, I had a game plan that got me warmed up and cleaned without further issue. To give the hot water heater time to fill back up, Stu pushed his until after a dinner run. We went to an Italian place reccomended by our host and liked it fairly well. Then Stu showered, and we settled in for the night with a bottle of red wine (I know, I know but a girl can only drink so much bier!).

Our first day was slowed by the shower incident and rentals, but we had plans to hit it early on the second day. Austria likes to party, which, unlike Jackson, seems to make them later risers. Despite a bit of a hike to another gondola which would take us to another part of the resort, the slopes were pretty quiet for the first two hours, allowing us to loop a run called the panorama a good 8 times, savoring the courderoy like a particularly good wine. Once the rest of the resort seemed to wake up and make it on the hill, we were ready for a quick break.

Apres at the Soul House really inspired me, but I wanted something other than beer. So while Stu ordered the typical .5L, I went with hot heiße schnoko mit Bailey's (Hot chocolate with Bailey's) and it was absolutely the right choice (and my drink for the rest of our time in Saalbach). After some time letting our feet get some sensation back, we went exploring, forsaking the panorama run (now much more populated) for whiter pastures.

The rest of the slopes were wonderful, although nothing lived up to the perfect courderoy stretch of panorama, but I did use the new terrain as an opportunity to develop a new kind of falling, called Ostriching. To ostrich, one must accidentally cross ski tips midway through a partially developed mound of snow well on it's way to identifying as a mogul, and then dive down the mountain chin first once the whole crash starts to really get away from you. This is different from other ski crash techniques in that it requires a true disassociation from self-preservation; where you might usually expect someone to a)attempt to recover or b) launch sideways to avoid a full tomahawk situation, an ostrich requires a full commitment to the risky, face-first downslope orientation. Done properly, you might be able to achieve a scope-eye as the goggles dig forcibly into your cheekbone.

 

Two days of skiing and ostriching at a high level really takes a toll, so we called it quits with a final run down panorama before returning our skis. We went in search of a wine bar we had spied on our first night but which had been packed to the gills. It was much emptier at 4:00 and turned out to serve Brandy instead. This isn't your grandpa's Brandy either. Expecting something pretty sweet, Stu and I both ordered tart fruits- an unripe white plum and an oaked sour cherry. Both were very dry and very hot. Our bartender and presumably the owner dimpled at our faces before trying to explain that no fruit syrup had been added to sweeten it, which is what you typically get in a Brandy. In her bottles, the fruit flavor was distilled in. We ordered sweeter fruits to better results-- particularly an apricot that's a Tirolian specialty. But after two glasses each, we decided to look for further Apres elsewhere. Most places were either completely stuffed or echoingly empty but we managed to nab the corner of a bar graced by the auspices of a heat lamp where we people-watched (and ski shopped) over beer (Stu) and hot chocolate with Bailey's (me, naturally).

Wearing thin, we nabbed a quick dinner at the Wok & Burger Boys food cart (it was fine, but we aren't going to write home to you about it--other than this, that is) before settling back into The Cave to shower, watch some Clone Wars on the phone, and chill.

Saalbaach was great skiing and a really fun town but we are excited to head to Innsbruck tomorrow, first thing, for some more sightseeing, to let our bodies recover a little, and to finally hunt up some proper food which has been a little lackluster thus far (Munich excepted).

Mountaineer's Guide: Munich- Coming and Going

 

For once, we didn't book a flight before dawn. Instead, our trip out of DC was a red eye scheduled to head out at 10:40pm. We've realized having some day is great -- you can check off all the last minute tasks because everything is open. Having too much day, however, is trouble. We're both proactive people who were having a hard time sitting still as we rounded 7 o'clock. So much so that we decided to metro to Dulles airport (an hour and a half walking/metro/shuttle adventure rather than a more direct route) just to finally get going.

Once there, we breezed through security and settled in to wait at our gate. Chelsea nabbed us a Wendy's frosty to help wile away the time before we boarded. The flight was nice enough -- we managed to sleep through a decent portion of it and had an empty seat in our row which we capitalized on. We also watched JoJo Rabbit, which we have had on the watchlist for a while. Note that watching a Nazi movie, even if it's ironic, is still probably a bad call when on the way to Germany. We've had to forcibly stop each other from repeating some of the funnier scenes from the movie, including some aggressive Heil-ing.

We flew Air Portugal because of some serious deals they were offering on European flights through most of last year. The flights all come with layovers as Portugal seems to have stolen a page out of the Iceland playbook and is subsidizing flights with layovers to boost tourism. That being the case, our flight to Munich was interrupted by 4 hours in the Lisbon Airport. We will be spending 3 days on the way back, but on the front end of our trip, it's just pushing through.

The second flight was equally ignominious, although we traded a screaming baby on the first flight for a grumbling row neighbor and no airline-sponsored entertainment on the second. But it was quick and one-time and the final leg of a 18 hour journey, so we were grateful. Once we landed, we grabbed bags and with only minor moments of confusion, and managed to load onto the S-Bahn (metro) into the city. Since this isn't our first European rodeo and we knew we would be coming in hot, we booked a hotel extremely close to the hauptbahnhof (that's some German for you; we're all international like that). That part of the plan worked perfectly and once we we were off the train, it was less that 15 minutes until we were walking into the hotel lobby.

We dropped bags, ran back out for a quick bite at a decent kebab joint around the corner, and then settled in for the night at the estemable Kings Hotel, First Class. The bed, the walls, and the ceiling tiles were all covered in wood paneling, which actually felt very cozy after the long haul of travel, and we didn't have much trouble passing out.

The next morning, we wanted to see a bit of Munich before continuing on to the next leg of our journey down into the Tirolian Alps and towards the Saalbaach-Hinterglemm skicircus. It started with a stroll through Karlsplatz (not much to see) and on to Marienplatz, home of both the old and new rathaus(es) and at least one kirche (yup, more German for you; we're basically bilingual at this point). I'm always a fan of big spiky gothic architecture, so the plaza did not disappoint.

After some wandering through damp weather, we sat down for a traditional München breakfast: brezels, bier, and weissewurst. These little white sausages are boiled in a casing because they are crazy delicate. The texture is somewhere between a mousse and scrambled eggs, which was a little odd, but they were absolutely delicious paired with some sweet mustard. We drank slowly and killed some time over the leisurely breakfast so we could time our return journey through Marienplatz to catch the Glockenspiel tower.

The bells of Marienplatz toll at 11, 12, and 5pm for tourists. It consists of almost 15 minutes of glockenspieled tunes accompanied by dancing statuary in a scrubbed-green clocktower. The spinning figures could be straight off of a Disney animation frame, and the Glockenspiel part sounds like it's played by two slightly deaf instrumentalists who can't hear the other playing. The old machinery struggles through like a hundred-year-old music box. So, enjoyable once, probably wouldn't go again, four stars.

 

We caught our 1:30 train into Austria without issues, and made a 6-minute transfer in Wörgl (which is quite the picturesque blur). The regional express quickly acsended into foothills, hills, and then real Alps. Snow over craggy cliffsides like a well-worn blanket and unbroken meadows of white filled the train window. We started to get truly excited when we began to see ski lifts dotting the landscape. Later we realized that all of these connected up to the skicircus area (and we still had half an hour on the train!) Another 5-minute transfer in Zell Am See got us onto a local bus to make the commute into Saalbach, where we checked into our attic-like AirBnB, dubbed The Cave.

Tomorrow, we ski!